


Moses has an Alibi

by Hatteress (goddammitstacey)



Series: Tripping Verse [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF!Cas, Blow Jobs, Bottom Cas, Hurt/Comfort, Light Bondage, M/M, Man Pain, Topping from the Bottom, or as I like to call it, season 6 AU, vanilla bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 17:09:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddammitstacey/pseuds/Hatteress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there's one thing Castiel should have learned in all his years it was that peace never lasted. The apocalypse may have been over but life went on – and with it came...complication.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Complication

**Author's Note:**

> This one's a direct follow on from Tripping so to have a hope in hell of understanding what's going on, 'tis probably best to read that one first. Think of it as homework. With porn!

If there's one thing Castiel should have learned in all his years it was that peace never lasted. The apocalypse may have been over but life went on – and with it came...complication.

It started with a job, as such things with hunters often did – the group’s first since recovering Sam and fittingly enough it was the younger Winchester who stumbled across it.

“The staff of what now?”

“Moses,” Castiel repeated, frowning down at the tabletop, the coroner’s photos before him gory but telling. Blood, boils and plague. Castiel had recognised the signs immediately – recognised, but not understood. He had left the weapons under proverbial lock and key in Heaven; how the staff of Moses had found its way to Earth he had no idea.

But he knew where to start asking questions. Unfortunately.

“Moses... as in ‘part-the-seas’ Moses?” Sam clarified and Castiel nodded.

Even without looking he could feel the brothers' twin stares of incredulity boring into the top of his head. “I need to make a call,” Castiel said, not without distaste and it was testament to how well Dean had come to know him that the hunter picked up on it.

He could almost hear Dean’s frown. “A call to who?”

Castiel looked up then and met Dean's gaze – a gaze he had come to know far more intimately in the past weeks than he’d ever thought possible. He had seen everything in those eyes – annoyance, anger, care, passion... And now Castiel found himself under a painfully familiar worried stare, one he had foolishly wished as Dean lay curled around him in the darkness that he would never have to see again.

But then, Dean was a hunter and Castiel an angel. Two harsh certainties that weren't going to change any time soon.

Castiel sighed. “Raphael,” he said heavily. “I need to speak with Raphael.”

* * *

Things for Team Free Will, as Sam had taken to calling the three of them in his head (not without mild annoyance at Dean for planting it there in the first place), had settled significantly from the chaos of their earlier, apocalyptic lifestyle.

Following the revelation that God had been masquerading as Lisa's next-door neighbour Stu, the three of them had taken the opportunity to bunk down in his newly vacated house. Dean had called it “fringe benefits.” Sam called it squatting. Whatever it was though, Sam couldn't deny that the stability was a nice change from the blur of rundown motel rooms that had been their usual fare. That God, for whatever damn reason, had a stupidly well-stocked library and an entertainment system that had Dean drooling all over the living room carpet didn't hurt either.

He and Dean had claimed a room each and Castiel, despite having no need of sleep, had claimed whatever bed Dean was in. And Sam couldn’t even try to take Dean’s over-acted eye-rolling at that seriously at ALL. He found it… well, almost _cute_. In an extremely gross sort of way.

The house was large – more than enough to accommodate the three of them and if Dean or Cas had noticed how unusual it was for one man, deity in disguise or not, to own a house capable of accommodating them perfectly then they didn't mention it. Sam, for his part, wasn't going to look a gift library in the mouth.

The days following were some of the best and most awkward in Sam's memory. Dean had made it his mission in life to educate Castiel about science fiction in film, which was just endlessly amusing what with Cas's no-nonsense attitude and in-depth understanding of battle techniques. But then Castiel had made it HIS mission to educate himself on how to rip every breathy moan and bitten curse from Dean's lips, something that was never NOT going to turn Sam's stomach no matter how happy for the two of them he was.

But, brotherly horror aside, for awhile things were...peaceful.

Of course it didn't last. Not that it was anyone's fault but his own. But really, the case had practically thrown itself at him...

“Raphael?” Dean squeaked incredulously. And Sam might have made fun of him for it but for the look of very real horror on his brother's face. “The same Raphael that tried to smite my ass?”

Ah yes, probably not the best of memories.

Sam caught sight of Castiel's jaw clenching a little at the reminder even as the angel nodded calmly. “He will have assumed a position of power in Heaven,” Cas explained. “If anyone knows why the Staff of Moses is on Earth, he will.”

Dean huffed and fell into what Sam knew was supposed to look like a casual lean on the bench, but the white-knuckled grip his brother had on the bench-top was a dead giveaway. Sam had never met Raphael but he'd heard stories and, he had to admit, anyone that earned a 'badass motherfucker' from Dean had to be pretty scary.

“So what? We just bring him down here for a friendly little chat?” Dean scoffed. “What's to stop him from taking another swing?”

Cas didn't even look up from the photos spread out on the table. “Me.”

It was said simply and without emphasis and yet even Sam felt like taking a step back at the crackle of power that accompanied the words. It was sometimes easy to forget just how terrifying Cas could be nowadays. Then again, most anyone would probably have trouble matching the most badass angel in creation with the guy that let his whatever-the-hell-Dean-was-to-him drool on his shirt when the man fell asleep draped all over him in front of the TV.

Sam looked over to Dean to find his brother waging war with one hell of a blush, the awkwardness all over him as he shifted uncomfortably. It was a good look on him – one that definitely warranted teasing later on. Sam grinned.

Yeah, Cas playing hero to Dean's damsel was just NEVER going to get old. Ever.

Dean cleared his throat with all the composure of a drenched cat. "So...how do we call the dick down?" he asked valiantly. "We need to find his Vessel again or what?"

"No." Cas shook his head, straightening from his perusal of the autopsy photos. "A prayer should suffice."

Sam watched as Dean's eyebrows almost hit his hairline - not that his own were probably much better. "You're going to pray to him?" Sam asked - and yeah, so his voice was a little disbelieving, but seriously?

Then Cas gave him that look - the one that said clearly "you're the stupidest human in creation, why do I even bother". It was the same look Sam had received upon asking about the damn liquor store so many months ago. "I'm an angel," he said. "I am not capable of prayer."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Then what?" Dean interrupted. " _We_ can't do it – you took us off the airwaves with your little bone-carving trick."

Castiel frowned, obviously thinking. Then his eyes ticked downward to Dean’s chest and his head sort of…quirked. Like an artist taking in a painting that needed a different stroke.

Sam didn’t blame Dean for his groan in the slightest. “This is gonna hurt, isn’t it?”

* * *

Dean had done a lot of ridiculous shit in his life, but this? This had to take the cake. Or at least a pretty damn big piece.

“Before I lay me down to sleep, I pray to Raphael to get his douche-y ass down here…”

His chest still ached from Cas’s little edit session. A scratch through here and an extra rune there had been all it had taken to put him back on Heaven’s radar, apparently. Funny how he hadn’t even noticed the freakin’ things the past year and a half but now that he was back in the limelight he felt weirdly naked.

“Come on Raph, Cas needs to talk to you. Don’t be a dick.” And then, because Dean was Dean, he cocked his head, eyes still closed as he smirked. “Well, a bigger dick than you already are anyway –”

He was cut off by the sound of wings, louder and somehow more violent than the noise Cas’s usually made. Dean didn’t even have to open his eyes to know it’d worked. Being met with Raphael’s customary glare when he did just sorta made him regret it.

“You pray like a heathen,” Raphael growled, glowering. And it was an impressive glower - the type to sink right into Dean’s bones and turn his spine to mush. It was an expression that reminded him that, in no uncertain terms, here was a creature that could rip him to pieces at a truly cellular level. Hell, here was a creature that had almost succeeded once.

Dean felt his stomach drop even as the customary smirk took up its rightful place. “I try,” he grinned, because yeah, he was nothing if not an instinctual pain in the ass when faced with true fear.

Raphael's eyes sparked a bit in response but the archangel wasn't given a chance to retaliate.

“Raphael,” Cas said, voice as stoic as ever but ticking with low warning. Raphael certainly didn't miss it, a sneer pulling at his lips even as he turned his attention very pointedly from Dean.

“You called -” the sneer gained a bit more twist, “- _brother_.”

Dean exchanged a look with Sam, relieved to note he wasn't the only one feeling the tension when his brother shifted awkwardly against the bench. Unfortunately Raphael's eyes flickered to the Sasquatch as he did and the big brother in Dean sat up pretty damn sharply at the look he directed Sam's way. Then Cas tossed the coroner’s photos very pointedly onto the table before the archangel, effectively pulling all attention down to them.

Raphael's eyes ticked over the spilled photos for a moment. “Oh, dead humans – how tragic,” he dead-panned.

“It’s less the 'what' and more the 'how' you should be focusing on,” Cas directed, a twitch of his hand rearranging the photos before Raphael into three piles. It was a blatant show of juice that had Dean raising one eyebrow at the angel, but Cas either didn't see him or ignored it – gaze hard on Raphael as the archangel bent over the table. It only took a moment.

“Ah,” Raphael muttered lowly before straightening. “That's where it got to.”

Even Dean couldn't help but grasp the ridiculousness of that particular understatement. “What?” he scoffed. “You left it in your other toga?”

The look Raphael turned on him spoke very clearly of the archangel's wish that he would spontaneously combust. Of course, that seemed to be the douche's natural state of being so Dean couldn't say he was surprised. Didn't stop him from swallowing a bit heavily though – so sue him for having a healthy nervousness around murderous archangels.

“The staff was in Heaven when I left,” Cas pressed, drawing Raphael's gaze back. “How is it now inflicting Heavenly death on Earth?”

Dean watched as Raphael seemed to challenge Cas with his silence for a moment before the archangel sighed, low and angry. “The staff was stolen,” he admitted grudgingly.

“Heaven was infiltrated?” Cas demanded, a thin note of urgency in his voice. Not that Dean could blame him. If Dean lived in the celestial equivalent of Fort Knox he'd be a little freaked out by a theft as well.

Raphael made a noise somewhere between a snort and a scoff – a sound Dean never would have associated with the archangel under normal circumstances. “Heaven stands as fast as it ever did,” he sneered. This only seemed to confuse Cas, whose frown deepened. Upon spying it Raphael's glare got harder – if that was even possible.

“Really.” The archangel spat. “What did you expect, _brother_? You're the one who showed the legion the power of _choice_.”


	2. French for Twelve

Aaron Birch wasn’t stupid. He knew that what he’d done was, in the grand scheme of things, not strictly right. But then what those cops had done to his brother had been pretty low on the scale too, so… well, so he’d been content to let the angel convince him that justice was needed. Was deserved.

It was a decision he was beginning to regret.

“Please,” he tried again, voice wavering despite his best efforts. “I just wanna go home.”

The biggest out of the group - though by no means the scariest - sighed as he took a seat next to him on the bed. “I know you do, Aaron. We’re working on it.”

Aaron might have scoffed at this if he hadn’t been so terrified. Because out of everything that had happened since the mismatched group of strangers had turned up at his house and zapped him to… to wherever he was now - ‘working’ on something didn’t seem to be on the agenda. Mostly they all wanted to do was talk about him like he wasn’t there. Or rather argue about him.

The two biggest contenders seemed to be the black guy - definitely the scariest of his captors - and the gruff one in the leather jacket. When they weren’t glaring at each other they were glaring at the last of the group - an unassuming man in a tan trench-coat who, against all odds, seemed to be the deciding factor in whatever decision the three of them were trying to come to.

The big guy - Sam, Aaron thought he’d heard him called - had been hovering at his side for most of the debate. Aaron might have thought it was to make sure he couldn’t get away except he’d witnessed firsthand how futile any sort of escape attempt was going to be.

Trying to run from men who could teleport was more than a little useless.

* * *

Angels. Dean fucking hated angels. And just because there was one epically glaring exception didn't make it freaking untrue screwyouverymuch.

Raphael, for instance, was a prime example of the race in general as far as Dean was concerned. Egotistic, unfeeling and psychotic - the archangel was everything that rubbed Dean the wrong way. The fact that the asshole also tended to want Dean and those he cared about dead was just the icing on the incredibly humongous cake of loathing.

And then, if all that weren't bad enough, there were moments like this.

"You're actually considering this?!” Dean asked incredulously, watching as Cas's eyes slid from Raphael's face to his. The look on the angel's face was surprisingly hard to interpret - yet another thing that was raising Dean's hackles. "You've got to be fucking kidding me!"

It was as this point that Cas, _his_ Cas, would have huffed - maybe rolled his eyes a little. Dean had little doubt that he was being exasperating enough for it. Instead of anything so human, though, Cas simply kept his eyes trained on Dean's, mouth thinning fractionally as he frowned.

And Dean sort of wanted to punch him for it.

Cas had always seemed more inhuman around his brothers. Uriel especially had had a knack for bringing it out in him back in the day and now it appeared that Raphael did too. Watching the two of them together earlier, pouring over the coroner's photos with the sort of single-minded, stick-up-the-ass determination only angels were able to pull off had been bad enough; not even the amused look he and Sam had shared over Cas’s entirely too stoic “I think we can rule Moses out as a suspect” had been enough to untangle the knot of discomfort in Dean’s chest at the image. But now there was this.

"We need the name of the angel who bought the soul," Cas explained, voice low and almost… unfeeling, stoic in a way it hadn’t been for so long Dean had almost forgotten he was capable of it. “Lives depend on it.”

Dean’s jaw clenched. “You’re talking about torturing a _kid_ ,” he bit out.

Cas’s eyes dropped from his at that but the angel otherwise remained infuriatingly silent.

“Why am I not surprised that your puerile refusal to see reason extends beyond Heavenly order,” Raphael suddenly cut in caustically and Dean had to urgently remind himself of how much it hurt to punch a fully-juiced up angel. Not that that stopped the temptation from lingering.

Dean compromised by jabbing a finger in the dick’s direction. “You can shut the hell up,” he barked. “We wouldn’t even be IN this mess if you knew how to take better care of your toys.”

Raphael’s nostrils actually flared at that and Dean felt the air prickle with static electricity for a second before Cas growled, low in his throat like a freaking _rottweiler_ or some shit. “Enough,” the angel commanded, and Dean felt a hot spike of triumph when Raphael’s eyes ticked away from their self-imposed staring match first. Of course it was doused a moment later with Cas’s next words.

“The threat posed by the Weapons on Earth is bigger –”

Dean threw up a hand. “So help me Cas, if you say ‘bigger than one kid’ I will punch you, broken hand or no broken hand,” he swore.

Again, prime opportunity for Cas to get in some good, old-fashioned eye-rolling but alas - Dean found himself faced with hard stoicism once more. “Bigger than _all_ of us,” Cas finished pointedly. “These Weapons were secured for a reason.”

Dean huffed. “I get it, your warheads are loose - people at risk -“

“Not just people,” Cas interrupted. That gave Dean pause for a moment, a moment in which Cas caught his eyes and held them - just as he had so many times in the past. Dean couldn’t help but think that the last few weeks had made that particular move sort of an unfair strategy.

“If the Weapons were to fall into the wrong hands - into _Demonic_ hands - “ Cas stressed, gaze serious and very blue upon his own and fuck it, Dean could practically _feel_ himself mellowing under the imploring tone “ - they could be used to lay siege to Heaven.”

And yeah, Dean’s eyes widened at that. Because… well, fuck. Even after going there, treading the roads of Heaven with his own two - proverbial at least – feet, he’d never really thought of it as something tangible. Never contemplated that it might be capable of falling. Heaven was a concept. A constant. And now apparently it was under threat.

All because one renegade angel felt the need to enter the soul trade market.

It was that reminder that prompted Dean to glance over to the market’s latest chunk of currency. Aaron Birch may not have made the best decisions in life, but he was still just a kid. He had a dad that loved him, a brother lost to him and probably hated gym class.

And as much as Dean could see the logic in what Cas was saying it took only one look at the fucking terrified look on this _kid’s_ face for him to harden his resolve. “No,” he said surely, turning back and using Cas’s own trick against him - after all, he’d been just as good at the staring game as the damn angel in the time they’d known each other. “Cas, there’s gotta be another way.”

For a beat Cas just stared back, and Dean held his breath. It was an unspoken and heavy fact hanging in the air around them that Cas did _not_ need Dean’s permission to move on this. Hell, with the sort of shit that was at stake Dean might not have even blamed him… not in the long run anyway. But this was… fuck it, this was important.

The life Dean and Sam led was fraught with choices just like this one. One good vampire against the possibility of falling off the wagon; one small town against the breaking of a seal. In war they called it sacrificing one for the good of the many. And every time Dean came up against one of these choices he was forcefully reminded of just how much he would suck as a general because every time, _every damn time_ Dean made a point of picking the ‘one’. Not because he couldn’t see the logic - fuck, some days all he _could_ see was the damn logic. No, he chose what he did because in the end it was when you started looking at humanity as a whole and lost track of the individual that things started going south. Dean’s time in Hell had been enough to nail that particular fact home.

But it was a lesson he wasn’t sure Cas had learned yet, even after all they’d been through. As much as the angel had said he’d approved of Dean’s choice when Samhain was trying to take a bite out of the world Dean didn’t think he’d actually _understood_ it at the time. And now…

Now something in Cas’s eyes changed. Acceptance sparked slightly at the edges of his gaze and Dean could practically feel the nod even before Cas made a move. Then very suddenly, he never got the opportunity.

“We are wasting _time_ ,” Raphael growled beside them and before Cas could react let alone freaking _Dean_ himself the archangel was gone with a beat of wings. Sam’s startled shout was enough to indicate he hadn’t gone far.

Dean spun but Cas was faster, appearing across the room in a flash but Aaron was already screaming. And suddenly Cas wasn’t leaning in to stop Raphael anymore but rather falling back, dragging Sam with him.

Dean watched as Sam struggled in the angel’s grip, not even realising that his feet had carried him forward until a wall of power stopped him in his tracks. It didn’t take a genius to realise whose it was with Cas’s hand raised in his direction.

“Cas-”

“No,” Cas cut in. “You interrupt him now and the boy could die.”

Aaron cried out again then - a harsh sound like a tortured animal and Dean had to swallow hard at the sight of Raphael’s arm buried up to his wrist in the boy’s chest - eery white light spilling from the kid’s eyes and mouth. It seemed an eternity before Raphael finally extracted his hand, leaving Aaron to slump against the bed unconscious.

And then, once more, Cas beat Dean to action. Before he could blink Cas had Raphael pinned to the ugly green wall-paper of the motel room, power crackling heavy in the air.

“You should not have done that,” Cas growled, voice low and making the energy in the air jump and surge.

Raphael, for his part, just glared down his nose at the other angel. “I did what I had to,” he spat. “For the safety of the Realm. Just because you have forsaken Heaven does not mean all of us must follow you, brother.”

Cas froze at that before pushing away from Raphael with a violent shove. The self satisfied glower Raphael followed Cas with only made Dean want to punch him again. Hard.

“The boy?” Cas suddenly asked and Dean looked around to find Sam hovering over the prone form of Aaron, fingers pressed to his pulse-point.

Sam looked up. “He’s alive,” he said, the relief in his voice audible.

“Of course he’s alive,” Raphael retorted. “I’m not an amateur.”

Seriously. Punching. Dean had to find a way to damage an archangel before he blew a blood vessel resisting the impulse. “You don’t get to talk right now,” he snarled, eliciting a glare from Raphael that spoke very clearly of the angel’s wish to scrape him off his shoe.

“That might prove troublesome considering I have the name this whole process was required to recover,” he drawled and fuck but Dean sort of hated that Raphael was getting little ticks of humanity. Almost as much as he loved that Cas was developing them.

“Who?” Cas suddenly interrupted.

Dean really didn’t like the scornful look Raphael turned to the other angel. At all.

“I believe he’s an old friend of yours, Castiel…”

* * *

Balthazar.

Castiel hadn’t seen him since…well, since he’d met Dean. Balthazar had been one of those chosen to storm Hell at Castiel’s side. Together their swords had cut a bloody swath through the demon population of the underworld and for an age they had lived, breathed and survived side by side. Balthazar had been noble, steadfast and loyal as any of his brothers. Apparently ‘had been’ were the operative words in that sentence.

Raphael had taken great pleasure in revealing the identity of the angel responsible for the theft of the Celestial Weapons. The smug superiority had been etched into every line of the archangel’s face - something that had made Castiel’s fist itch rather insistently to join it. No doubt Dean’s influence, that.

But, as infuriating as Raphael’s near-gloating was, Castiel couldn’t deny the truth behind his brother’s words. He had forged the path Balthazar now walked and, as much as Castiel couldn’t bring himself to regret his decisions, he also couldn’t help feeling partly responsible for the damage now done. People were dead…Heaven was vulnerable...

It was that sense of culpability that drove Castiel ahead of the others, disappearing with a redoubled beat of wings the moment the four of them touched down on the wet grass outside Balthazar’s abode. Dean’s shouted ‘Wait!’ was expected but unheeded - this was Castiel’s mess - he would be the one to clean it up. 

The mansion was sprawling, even so - it didn’t take Castiel long to trace the faint hum of Grace to a parlour off the main upstairs hall. But then, even if he’d been without his extra senses he could have probably just followed the jazz music and strobe lights. 

Balthazar - ever the showman. 

Castiel resisted the urge to roll his eyes even as he slid his Sword from the ether, the cool metal a familiar weight in his hand.

“You’re here,” an accented voice suddenly cut over the music and Castiel turned slightly to find the piano upon the room’s ledge had gained a fellow occupant.

The man was tall, middle-aged and very much not just a man. As if to hammer the point home the angel snapped his fingers, bringing the lights up and cutting the music. It was a gesture so reminiscent of Gabriel that Castiel felt his hand tighten on his blade almost instinctively.

A move that did not go unnoticed.

Castiel watched as Balthazar’s eyes ticked down to the blade before the other angel’s features fell into a put-upon expression. “I’m offended Cas, really,” Balthazar drawled, taking a swaggering step down off the ledge, a whiskey glass tinking slightly in his hand as he did. “I thought we were _family_.”

“Balthazar,” Castiel greeted lowly, ignoring the jibe.

Balthazar grinned, spreading his arms wide. “In the flesh - ” he glanced down at himself, tipping a self-satisfied smirk, “ - Quite literally actually.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Your humour hasn’t improved,” he pointed out and though he tried, he failed to keep the fondness out of his tone. 

There had been a time when he had been closer to Balthazar than any other of his brothers. Battle had a way of cementing bonds and Castiel and Balthazar had fought side by side through Hell. It was that connection, more than anything that was making this confrontation as hard as it was. As far as Castiel was concerned, Balthazar hadn’t only betrayed Heaven.

Castiel sighed at the thought. “Balthazar, what is all this?” he asked. “What are you doing?”

Balthazar’s smirk widened at the question and Castiel felt a moment of surrealism at how in tune Balthazar’s vessel seemed to be to his base personality. Very few angel’s felt as comfortable in human bodies as Balthazar obviously was in his.

“Whatever I want,” Balthazar enthused, gesturing grandly in a very practiced way that ensured the contents of his drink stayed put. “This morning I had a ménage à…what’s french for twelve?”

Castiel pointedly ignored the question. “You stole the staff of Moses?” he enquired instead, only to grit his teeth a moment later at Balthazar’s answer.

“Among other things, yes,” the angel said flippantly.

Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Why not?” Balthazar chuckled then, a liquid sound that set Castiel’s teeth on edge. “Oh don’t look at me like that Cas, you opened the door - I’m only following you though it.” And yes, there was the awful truth of it. Castiel watched as Balthazar took a sip from his drink before shrugging. “So what if I took a little nest egg with me - I think I’ve earned it.”

“You are putting all of Heaven at risk,” Castiel pointed out, not without appeal.

Balthazar waved a hand nonchalantly, as if batting the words out of the air. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Heaven it’s that it needs to be knocked down a few pegs,” he explained easily and Castiel couldn’t help his scowl. “A heavy dose of vulnerability will do it good. At any rate, it’s not your responsibility anymore.”

“No,” a new voice suddenly joined them and Cas’s eyes flicked beyond Balthazar’s shoulder. He’d wondered how long it was going to take. “It’s mine,” Raphael growled, looking every inch the righteous keeper of Heaven.

Balthazar didn’t even turn, instead heaving a theatrical sigh as he downed the last of his drink. “Raphael,” he greeted, finally twirling to face the glowering archangel. Castiel watched as Balthazar swept his gaze over Raphael’s vessel, the insolence in the gesture loud and clear. “I’d say it’s good to see you but even _I’m_ not that good of a liar.”

“You will give me the Weapons,” Raphael ordered, his tone harsh as his gaze and Castiel was mildly surprised to find Balthazar unruffled under the scrutiny.

Balthazar tapped one finger to his chin in an overt show of thought. “Let me just think now - “ he hummed sarcastically, “ - no, no I don’t think I will.”

“You do not want me to take them by force,” Raphael warned, taking a step forward.

“No, but I did want you to take that step,” Balthazar returned. 

And Castiel really should have seen it coming. Balthazar was wily when he wanted to be - it was one of his greatest strengths as a warrior: pitting brains against brawn. A snap of the angel’s fingers was all it took to ignite the ring of Holy Fire around Raphael, another snap and the staff was in his hands. Castiel lunged too late, Balthazar had the staff up and bearing down on him before he made it even half a step. 

The pain, when it hit, was excruciating.

“Sorry brother,” Balthazar said, twisting the staff downward and causing Castiel to gasp. “Self-preservation and all that - you understand.”

It was an attack on both Castiel’s Vessel and his Grace and he struggled for a moment to hold them both together. Despite the effort though he could already taste the blood filling his mouth; feel it trickling from his eyes. His Grace shuddered under the assault, clamping down painfully within his Vessel and the sensation sent him to his knees.

“Ah - so the rumours are true then,” Balthazar said, a slight tick of surprise in his tone. Castiel raised his eyes enough to catch the curiosity in the other angel’s gaze as Balthazar cocked his head, the staff unwavering in his grip. “You’ve taken an empty Vessel.”

Castiel opened his mouth to reply but only succeeded in coughing up a mouth-full of blood.

“I’d say I’m doing you a favour then brother,” Balthazar continued. “Who knows how much longer you could have gone on before you were permanently bound to your meat.”

A spike of fear went through Castiel at those words, sharpening when Balthazar twisted the staff and focused the majority of it’s power on his Vessel. Balthazar meant to exorcise him - force him from his Vessel and destroy it. It was an excruciating sensation for any angel but particularly damaging for one who had taken an empty Vessel.

Castiel cried out - a raw sound at the feel of flesh, _his_ flesh writhing under the power of the staff.

He had explained it to Jimmy once - taking an empty Vessel was leaving yourself open to connection; leaving your Grace open to bonding to a physical form. Castiel had put too much of himself into this Vessel; too much of his own Grace was being rent as the body around him fractured. Even if he were to survive the process, he would be unable to take another Vessel for an indeterminate amount of time. He would be unable to return to Earth.

To Dean.

If Castiel hadn’t already known the depth of his feelings for the man he would have in that moment. Blood splattered across the polished marble before him as he gritted his teeth, forcing his voice past his lips. “No - please…”

The pain let up as suddenly as the lights had and Castiel gasped, vision tinging white at the edges as he struggled to focus. His gaze, when he raised it, was met with a confused frown from Balthazar. The brush of Grace not his own across his mind was expected but Castiel didn’t have enough strength to keep the intrusion out. Castiel watched as Balthazar blinked in shock for a moment before the other angel scowled slightly.

“Well - I’d rather hoped _those_ rumours had been exaggerated also but I see they weren’t.” Balthazar’s head ticked to the side; curious. “Is your mud-monkey really worth it?”

“Oh you have no idea,” a new voice suddenly joined the fray and Castiel’s stomach dropped. He didn’t even have to look to know who’d spoken - there was only one person cock-sure enough to throw himself into this level of danger with nothing but biting sarcasm and a smirk on his lips.

Castiel looked to the door.

Ah. And a molotov cocktail of Holy Oil. Well...

“I’m awesome,” Dean declared before suddenly letting the Holy Oil fly. Castiel had to admit, as one-liners went it was slightly better than ‘hey, ass-butt’.


	3. Empty Vessel

_“You’ve taken an empty vessel.”_

Dean had seen some scary shit in his time. Monsters, demons, horror and, well - y’know - Hell. But none of that, _none_ of it came close to the harsh terror that gripped him upon spying Cas, on his knees, coughing and…and fucking _leaking_. There was no other word for it. Because it wasn’t just blood - though there was a fucktonne of that too - no, it was also light - the shit Dean had come to realise was what angel’s freaking _were_. It was Cas under attack and fracturing; the very fucking core of him.

It was testament to how well his father had trained him that Dean didn’t just run screaming into the fray. Instead he took stock, noting Raphael trapped within a circle of holy fire; sizing up who he could guess was the angel Balthazar in the middle of the room. The dick was a fucking flawless representation of everything angels were - egotism just _oozing_ from the douchebag. It took all of three seconds for Dean to hit on a plan - another five to relay it silently to Sam. Sammy didn’t even blink, proving himself awesome incarnate as he nodded and slipped into the room, sticking to the shadows as he circled his gargantuan self around to Raphael.

And then came the hard part - because Dean had to wait. The plan wouldn’t work if Sam wasn’t in position and one look at Cas really hammered home how much they needed it to. Didn’t stop the concept from gnawing at his insides, though.

Thankfully Balthazar was enjoying his time in the spotlight.

“I’d say I’m doing you a favour then, brother,” the fucker drawled, all British accent and smarmy superiority. “Who knows how much longer you could have gone on before you were permanently bound to your meat.”

And yeah, Dean blinked at that. Because what the fuck? He didn’t have long to focus on it though because with a twist of the staff in Balthazar’s hand Cas was crying out - a tortured sound that hit Dean hard and sharp in the chest. It took only a flicker of a glance to see that Sam had almost made it - was almost there…

“No - please…”

Oh God. Dean grit his teeth and willed Sam to go faster but then thankfully, the sentiment that had Dean feeling like he’d been punched in the gut seemed to have reached some part of Balthazar. Dean watched as the angel paused in confusion, eyes intent before they widened in what looked like surprise.

“Well - I’d rather hoped _those_ rumours had been exaggerated also, but I see they weren’t.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed at that, heart hammering in his chest as Cas - his fucking indestructible Cas goddamnit - sagged forward. Despite the posture that blue gaze stayed hard on Balthazar’s face and Dean felt a stab of pride despite himself - for all angels weren’t used to dealing with pain, Cas had always handled himself well under it. Balthazar’s head tipped then and the look of it was so freaking familiar Dean felt himself suck in a breath despite himself.

“Is your mud-monkey really worth it?”

And oh. _That’s_ what they were talking about. In retrospect, the timing really couldn’t have been more fucking dramatic. But what the hell, Dean was nothing if not good at a goddamn entrance. Sam stepped into place a fraction of a second before Dean snapped a flame to life on his zippo and stepped out through the doorway.

“Oh, you have no idea,” he smirked, fear and anger lending the expression a razor’s edge. “I’m awesome.”

His aim was sure. It was only Balthazar’s seemingly instinctive move with the staff that saw the angel survive the assault, the vial shattering against the ancient wood instead. It went up like dry kindling.

Dean had only a moment to be satisfied with Balthazar’s startled yell as the angel dropped the thing before he was moving, skirting the fiery scene quickly and skidding to his knees beside Cas.

Cas, who had yet to raise his head, fists balled tightly upon his knees as he shook - with pain or something else, Dean had no idea. Whatever it was, it scared the ever-loving shit out of him.

“Cas?” Dean put one arm around trench-coated shoulders that had no damn right to slump the way they did. “C’mon man, stay with me…”

A full body shudder went through the angel at that, and Dean might have startled away except Cas’s grip found his sleeve and held on. Hard.

“Dean-”

A harsh shout of pain from the middle of the room cut off Cas’s words and Dean looked up despite himself, eyes widening at the scene.

Sammy had obviously done his job because Raphael was free of the holy fire. Free with a freaking vengeance. The archangel had a hold of Balthazar from behind, fist clenched hard around something that was - yeah, okay weird - invisible. Dean only realised what it was when Balthazar tried to move, a rustling following the movement before one sharp yank at seemingly empty air had him gasping in pain. Dean’s eyes widened. Because holy shit - Raphael had hold of Balthazar’s freaking _wing_.

“I told you, you would not want me to take them by force,” Raphael said lowly, the menace in his tone clear enough to make even Dean suppress a shiver. Even not aimed directly at him, the tone did the trick.

“Now, brother,” Balthazar grunted, somehow managing to slide a ribbon of flippancy through the pain in his voice. “Let’s not be hasty. I still have one card to play after all.”

“You will have no favours of me,” Raphael growled.

And Balthazar chuckled, a reaction that Dean didn’t like one damn bit. Especially not with where Balthazar’s eyes landed next. “Not of you, no.”

Oh fuck right off. “You can go screw yourself, Chuckles,” Dean swore, matching Balthazar’s superior look with a glare of his own. “You’re getting squat from me.”

Balthazar twitched a smirk at that and Dean felt his stomach drop at the expression. Nothing good ever came of smirking angels - Zachariah had taught him that much.

“Not even in exchange for Aaron Birch’s soul?” Balthazar drawled.

Dean swore, eyes automatically ticking to his brother on the other side of the room. Sam was already looking back, gaze reflecting Dean’s own conflict back at him.

Fuck!

It wasn’t lost on Dean that this was the second decision of its sort to be thrown at him today. It also wasn’t lost on him just how few options he had for making it. Even if he and Sam were to help Balthazar in exchange for the kid's soul there was no way they could go up against Raphael - not without Cas backing them up.

Raphael seemed to have realised this too, hard gaze ticking to Cas’s shaking form before meeting Dean’s eyes. There was no mistaking the triumph there.

“Faith in Dean Winchester is one thing you should not have emulated, brother,” Raphael taunted before hardening his grip and arching up straighter. The sudden heavy sound of beating wings was hardly surprising; the fact Raphael didn’t immediately disappear sort of was.

Dean watched as the archangel’s face registered shock before twisting into something wholly ugly. “You cannot do this!” he growled. Dean’s eyes widened when he realised where the archangel was aiming his glare.

Cas. Cas who was still shaking but also glaring back, one hand extended to the pair of angels in the middle of the room. Dean might have leaned back out of shock except it only took a slight shift to register Cas’s other hand was still gripping his sleeve; half the angel’s weight leaning shakily into him.

“I can,” Cas countered. “Let him go.”

Raphael growled. Honest to freaking God _growled_ and Dean felt a slight shudder go through Cas beside him. Raphael was fighting him - which might not have been so worrying except Cas already looked like a light breeze could tear him limb from limb. And yet the stubborn idiot held on. Dean didn't know whether to be proud or panic like a giant girl.

"You would risk Heaven for the soul of one human?" Raphael spat harshly. "You have lost your mind."

Cas didn't answer but Dean felt the hand on his sleeve grip tighter. Then, just as he thought the seams were going to split, Raphael snarled and stepped back away from Balthazar with a sharp twist.

Balthazar just smirked, though Dean would have had to have been blind to miss the slight shake in the angel's hands as he re-adjusted his collar. "We have a deal then - the boy's soul for my freedom."

"The soul for a head start," Cas corrected, and Dean noticed the angel's glare had lost none of the potency that had been directed at Raphael now that it had a new target. "I _will_ come for the weapons."

Balthazar cocked one eyebrow with the air of a cowboy cocking a gun, the expression complementing the smirk in a way that made Dean's teeth itch. "I'll take those odds," the angel drawled before closing his eyes and adopting an expression of concentration.

Dean rolled his eyes. Trust the look of constipation when transferring soul ownership to be universal between angels and demons.

It took only a moment for Balthazar's face to clear and when it did Dean almost rolled his eyes again at the bow the angel aimed at Cas. "Lovely doing business with you," he quipped, sounding so much like Crowley Dean almost snorted.

And then he was gone.

It was the moment usually reserved for commentary on the dickishness of angels, and Dean might have indulged if Cas hadn't suddenly slumped, a dead weight against his side.

* * *

"Cas!"

Sam didn't even need to see Cas collapsed against Dean to know something was very wrong - the panic in his brother's voice told the story well enough on its own. When he did look, he saw what had Dean hitting the high notes.

Light - white and pure - was seeping from beneath Cas’s closed eyelids, spilling from his mouth. Sam had only seen something like it happen once before - when Alastair had tried his hand at an angelic exorcism.

“What the hell’s happening to him?” Dean demanded.

Sam followed his brother’s gaze to Raphael, who had yet to zap out. The archangel was looking down at Cas like one might look down at a particularly disobedient dog.

“His vessel is breaking down,” Raphael explained, voice a cold calculation. “My brother is putting himself at great risk trying to hold it together.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “What? Why?”

Raphael’s nose wrinkled then, like he’d just stepped in something messy. “I’d imagine so he can stay on Earth,” he elaborated, his judgment of that particular choice all too obvious.

“What?” Dean asked. Sam couldn’t help but second the sentiment. It wasn’t like Cas hadn’t left Earth and returned before. And if he’d made a vessel once...

“It is not my job to educate you on all Castiel has sacrificed,” Raphael answered, lip curling and eyes cold.

And Sam felt his stomach drop. Because - Sacrificed. Fuck. The glance he threw at Dean revealed the moment the word hit his brother like a particularly well aimed dagger. For all Dean would happily throw himself off a cliff for those he cared about, Sam knew that his brother was woefully unequipped to handle someone else doing the deed in his name.

Dean swallowed harshly, the click of his throat audible in the silence of the room. “Then don’t,” he finally replied hoarsely. “Just help him.”

Raphael looked down at Dean like the man was a bug who’d just asked for a restaurant menu. “I’m not inclined to that course of action.”

Sam had never thought so damn fast in his life. “Oh, but you should be,” he interrupted, pulling all eyes to him. Dean looked ready to toss him the keys to the Impala if he pulled this off.

Sam took a deep breath - meeting Raphael’s skeptical look with what he hoped was a convincing one of his own. “What happens if you’re wrong?” he continued. “What happens if Castiel survives losing his vessel and ends up back in Heaven?”

Raphael’s eyes ticked to Cas then, and Sam practically saw him putting the pieces together in his head - pieces Sam had already lined up and glued. He might have smirked if worry hadn’t been eating such a massive hole in his gut. “I wouldn’t mind betting he could still kick your ass once he got back on his feet, and _then_ who’d be ruling Heaven?”

Raphael’s mouth hardened and Sam knew he had him. The look on Dean’s face when the archangel stepped forward was a stifling mix of relief, hope and trepidation.

Even so, Sam figured this would probably warrant getting to play his own music on the way back.


	4. Tarnished Perfection

Dean had had a lot of experience with blood. Demon, monster, human... All things told, you sorta got used to it. But there was something about _Cas_ and blood that had never sat well with Dean. Even before he'd fallen face first into whatever he now was with the angel, the red splash of it against Cas's skin had always made him cringe a little. He supposed it was because of what Cas was - or what he was supposed to be. Powerful. Unbreakable. Any evidence to the contrary just shook Dean up; skewed his world slightly sideways.

It was that feeling; that sense of _wrong_ , that saw him in his current position - shirtsleeves rolled up, brow furrowed and hands as gentle as he could make them as he swiped a damp wash-cloth across Castiel's red-stained jaw.

It'd been two hours since Raphael, sour-faced as ever, had deposited Dean and a still-unconscious but thankfully no longer bleeding Cas back at the house in Cicero. Sam had volunteered to head back to their motel to grab their stuff and the Impala before returning which, while cementing him at the top of Dean's list of awesome brothers, also put the Sasquatch about nine hours drive out. This wouldn't have been such a bad thing except that it left Dean with a broken Cas and way too much time with his own thoughts. Thoughts that kept returning to all that Balthazar and Raphael had said...

Fucking hell, how could he have been so monumentally _stupid_?

He could still remember the image of Cas, newly returned from Heaven and rumpled as ever as he'd explained his foray into science-fiction.

_"I had it made. From the base components of Jimmy's physical body."_

It'd shocked Dean at the time sure - but he hadn't pushed - he hadn't friggin' thought to.

_"It was against the rules."_

_"And now?"_

_"Now I am the rules."_

Dean huffed out a breath as he thought back to Cas's words. Because fuck - he should have seen it. God knew Dean himself had done his own damn fair share of avoiding straight answers. There was obviously a reason taking an empty Vessel was against the rules; a reason angels shouldn't freaking do it; a reason CAS shouldn't have... Dean just hadn't opened his damn eyes long enough to ask.

Truthfully he hadn't opened his eyes for much of anything.

The past few weeks since Sam's return had been - at the risk of sounding like the epilogue of a romantic fucking comedy - utterly perfect. The world was apocalypse free; he and his brother had made it through not only without going to hell but also having gained the approval of God himself for their actions. And to add a crescendo of larks to the fucking cheery picture Dean had...fuck, he didn't really know what he had with Cas but he couldn't deny that it sat damn well with him.

For the first time in what felt like forever Dean had felt...warm. Content with his lot in a way he hadn't been since a fire and a demon had ripped his family apart.

And so yeah, he'd closed his eyes, clapped his hands over his ears and all but hummed the fucking national anthem in an effort to ignore anything or anyone that would bring an end to the peace. In retrospect, he might have thought to apply that philosophy to Sam and his damn knack for finding jobs.

Dean snorted slightly at the thought as he wrung the cloth out in the bowl of warm water on the side table.

In truth he couldn't really blame Sammy. As much as his brother was an idiot at times he was also a hunter - just like Dean - and if there was one thing the last few years had taught Dean there was no escaping that fact. As good as the last few weeks of rest had been, it'd always been an unspoken understanding that they'd return to the job. Dean only wished that that return had included a little more salt and burn and a little less game-changing, angelic revelation.

A little less Cas almost dying would have been a major plus as well.

The memory was not a pleasant one. Seeing Cas like that - bleeding in every damn way that mattered. It was a vision that didn't so much haunt Dean as sneak up at intervals and punch him in the fucking chest. The only other memory that had that effect these days was that of Sam in Stull Cemetery closing his eyes and falling…and, yeah - Dean would be lying if he said that the resemblance didn't scare the ever-loving shit out of him. It was one thing to know he cared for Cas but this...this was a level of devotion that had only ever been tied to family.

This was -

"Dean?"

Dean jerked so hard he hit the bedside table, causing water to slosh over the lip of the washbowl and across the wood finish. Not that he gave a rat’s ass. Not when Cas was awake, gaze still a little sleep-addled as the angel frowned up at him.

“Cas!” And so yeah, any other time he may have been a little embarrassed at the tone of epic freaking relief but fuck it. “How’re you feeling? Does anything hurt?" So help him, if Raphael had left so much as one burst blood vessel...

"I am fine," Cas said, his tone edging into slight surprise as he hoisted himself into a seated position. Dean just barely prevented himself from pushing the damn angel back down into the pillows - there was worried and then there was being a giant girl after all. Didn't really help that Cas's incredulousness at not being a red smear on the floor had served as a pointed reminder of just how damn close that possibility had come.

"What happened?" Cas asked, eyes ticking down to the blood stained cloth Dean had yet to let up his death grip on. Sue him - it was that or grab onto something else a bit more angel-shaped and possibly never let the fuck go.

Dean wrung the cloth a little for good measure. “Raphael patched you up,” he explained, watching as Cas caught sight of his own blood splattered sleeve before finally seemed to notice the state he was in.

Dean was unsurprised that a second later, when Cas looked up again he was back to his slightly rumpled but decidedly less slasher-film looking self. Dean couldn’t decide if he was relieved or pissed. On one hand - yay, no more blood, on the other…there was no way he was letting Cas get away with sweeping _this_ under the freaking rug.

“Raphael?” Cas asked, uncertain. Not that Dean could blame him. “Why-”

“Sam,” Dean cut in, mouth tipping up at the memory. “Sasquatch played him like a pro.”

Cas nodded, eyes falling back to Dean’s hands and fuck but Dean wished he wouldn’t look. Wouldn’t frown like that at the sight of his blood on Dean’s hands - like he was just as disturbed by the picture as Dean himself was.

The question came without checking in with Dean’s brain first. “What happened Cas?” Cas paused at his words and Dean swallowed hard. “You almost died.” And fuck but if the reminder wasn't ten times worse when it was coming from himself. “Why didn't you just zap out of the damn vessel?” _Why didn't you save yourself_ went unspoken.

Dean watched as Cas's shoulders slumped, eyes ticking to the side in the closest thing the angel ever got to discomfort. “I couldn't.”

Dean frowned. “Couldn't or wouldn't?”

Cas fixed him with his own stare then, eyes earnest and very blue. “Perhaps a bit of both.”

Dean almost snorted. Cas was the only person he knew who could be more damn confusing in his honesty. Mostly because the angel couldn't lie for shit.

“Balthazar said you took an empty vessel,” Dean prompted, not bothering to mention that the asshole had said it with the air of speaking about a man who'd gone swimming with a concrete life jacket.

Cas nodded stiffly. “You know I did.”

Dean frowned. “Yeah but I don't think you ever explained just exactly what that means,” he continued only to have Cas's eyes slide from his again. Fuck. “Cas?”

Cas didn't so much sigh as steel himself – almost as though his next words were going to fall on them from a freaking height. “Angels are not allowed to take empty vessels, partly because it's a waste -” Dean snorted at the thought of angels caring about anything so trivial as human lives but Cas continued, ignoring him, “ - but mostly because, if an angel spends too much time within an empty vessel it claims them.”

And count the ways that sounded far from fucking good. Dean scowled. “Claims?”

“The angel can no longer leave the vessel of his or her own volition,” Cas explained. “Certain human attributes become more pervasive – smell, sound, touch...”

“Pain?” Dean guessed, hating it when Cas nodded. Dean wrung the cloth in his hands just that bit tighter. “So you can't go back to heaven?”

Cas shook his head. “Not within the lifetime of this vessel no.”

“And what happens if some douche gets it into his head to do what Balthazar did today?” Dean asked. “What happens if the vessel's destroyed?”

He knew he'd hit on the dark awful centre of the problem the moment Cas twitched slightly to the side. It was the closest damn thing the angel ever got to fidgeting.

“The more time spent in the vessel the more entrenched the angel becomes,” Cas explained, voice far too careful for Dean's sanity - like he was picking his words out of a bucket of razors. “Balthazar was attempting to break my connection with this flesh before it was too late.”

Bingo. “Too late for what?” Dean asked, trying and failing to keep the note of urgency from his tone. Cas paused a moment and Dean's eyes narrowed. “Cas? Too late for what?”

Cas sighed, the action seeming to deflate him. “For me to break from this vessel with my grace intact.”

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_...

“For you to not die when the vessel does,” Dean said lowly, putting words to everything he'd been dreading since the start of the damn conversation.

Cas nodded, eyes lingering on Dean's hands as he practically tore the damn cloth to shreds. “That...is a possibility...yes.”

It was a possibility. A motherfucking _possibility_. Dean didn't know whether to punch Cas or grab a hold of him and never let go. Panic set in with a familiar jolt and before he knew it Dean was on his feet, the damp, blood-stained cloth slapping wetly against the wall where he threw it.

That was going to stain.

It was a ridiculous thing to focus on but still better than anything else clamouring at the edge of his brain. Like how this was wrong - how Cas had put himself at risk; put himself in _danger_ and for what? So that Dean could go and fuck everything up in the long-run? So Cas could die, caged in a meat-suit, regretting ever having had the faith in whatever the fuck they were doing here? And he _would_ \- Dean knew it as surely as he needed fucking air - Cas would regret this decision because Cas was an angel. Vast, holy and too damn good to be mucking it about in the dirt with the rest of humanity. As much as Dean had perversely enjoyed getting Cas’s wings a little rumpled; his halo a little skewed he’d never, _never_ wanted this.

This was dragging Cas down into the mud - working the grit and grime into his feathers until he was caked with it. This was Dean watching Cas come to realise the epic fucking mistake he’d made and then watching him die because of it. Because he would die - probably bloody and probably violent - everything around Dean did in the end and he was nothing but fucking helpless to stop it.

Dean didn’t realise just how far into his little freak-out he’d fallen until he felt the rough grip at his shoulder. Cas manhandled with all the finesse of a bulldozer and this time was no different. Before he’d even fully realised the tilt of the room Dean found himself sprawled flat on the bed, breath punched out of his lungs as Cas loomed over him. And Dean really didn’t know what was doing a better job of pinning him to the bed - Cas’s weight or the angel’s epic fucking scowl.

“You are being irrational,” Cas growled. “Calm down.”

Dean twisted only to find his arms bound above his head in a sure grip, his range of motion little more than goddamn fractional. “What have I told you about getting into my head,” he griped, more for something to focus on than with any real heat - his mind was still spinning too much for that.

Cas scowled impossibly harder. “I hardly had to - you were practically screaming.”

Oh Peachy. Dean squeezed his eyes closed, turning his face away as his throat tightened horribly. “Cas - you can’t-“

“No.”

The fury in that one word had Dean opening his eyes despite himself and before he could recover he was trapped in Cas’s glare. And damn but the angel was _pissed_.

“You do not get to take this decision from me,” Cas rumbled, fingers digging into the flesh of Dean’s wrists with the promise of bruises. “This is my choice and no one else’s.”

“Well it’s the wrong friggin’ one!” Dean growled, trying and failing to break the angel’s grip. Not that he’d hoped for much. Bound to his meat-suit or not Cas certainly hadn’t lost any of his mind-numbing strength. “You can’t - you can’t do this - not for me.”

Dean studiously ignored the way his voice cracked on the last there. Instead he focused on Cas - Cas who had never looked so human as he snarled in frustration, sitting back on his heels to straddle Dean’s hips. It took a second for Dean to realise his hands were still bound, Cas’s mojo obviously filling in while his hands were busy raking through his insane shock of hair - making a bigger mess of it than it already was. It was testament to how much Dean trusted the angel that he wasn’t going ballistic at the restraint by now. But then Cas seemed to be dosing up on the crazy enough for the two of them.

“You are the most aggravating…frustrating… _infuriating_ …” Cas seemed to lose the capability for words, something Dean almost wanted to take a freaking picture of for it’s novelty despite the circumstances. “Agh!” Cas dropped his hands, bringing that damn glare back to bear. “What would you have me do Dean? Return to Heaven? Maintain order by Raphael’s side?”

Dean swallowed around the harsh lump in his throat, eyes ticking away from Cas’s as he twitched a pathetic excuse for a shrug against the grip still holding him. “If you want-“

“What I WANT-” Cas interrupted, fingers finding purchase on Dean’s chin to force his face forward. Totally not a fair move. Particularly not as Cas’s eyes burned into him - sincerity and determination practically fucking _shining_ from the things like they were in a goddamn soap-opera or some shit, “-is to be here, like this, with you.”

“You can’t-“ It occurred to Dean that his side of this argument was beginning to sound like a broken record at about the same time Castiel’s patience boiled over. The angel snarled - full on fucking _snarled_ \- and Dean just about fused with the freaking mattress in an effort to get away as he suddenly found himself nose to nose with epic holy wrath.

“I. CAN.” Cas growled, low and deliberate, a clap of thunder and bursting lightbulb adding the biggest freaking full stop to the statement that could be had. Dean might have laughed at the melodrama if he weren’t so busy trying to swallow around what seemed like a tree-stump lodged in his throat. “Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do Dean,” the angel continued, eyes practically electric in the sudden shadows of the room. “My days of fealty to others are well behind me and they will _stay_ that way.”

Dean’s heart hammered in his chest - skin prickling under the static practically sparking in the air and yet…he wasn’t afraid. He probably should have been. God knew Cas was very capable of ripping him to pieces; burning him up from the inside out.

Dean swallowed. "Fucking _hell_ Cas..." he said weakly. And yeah, so there was a little awe in there - shoot him.

Above him, Cas sighed - his eyes softening along with the shadows of the room. "I won't regret this Dean," the angel assured, proving once more that he really did know Dean far too well for ANY of their combined sanity. "I'm giving up heaven - I’m not giving up who I am."

Dean scowled. "Heaven is your home."

"And Kansas is yours," Cas returned. "You're saying it would destroy you not to return?" he asked. And fuck him, even Dean - king of the blind - couldn't deny the angel's damn logic.

Still... "That's not the same thing and you know it," Dean griped. "You have family."

Cas shifted above him, raising on eyebrow in a look that would have made _Crowley_ proud for fuck's sake. "Who - as evidence shows - have absolutely no qualms about striking off on their own either," Cas explained and Dean scowled harder - because god-fucking-dammit this was NOT the way this conversation was supposed to go. Stupid thing was Dean wasn't entirely sure if he was all that cut up about the fact.

Cas sighed, fingers inching up to play absently with the hem of Dean's t-shirt - it was such a human thing to do Dean found it lent a bit of extra weight to Cas's next words. "Dean I _enjoy_ Earth; I enjoy humanity. It's chaotic and messy yes but there's a beauty to it as well - a tarnished perfection that has never been seen in Heaven. And..." Cas looked up, catching him in one of their epic stare-o-thons that Dean couldn't really deny anymore made his heart start punching him a little harder in the ribs. "I enjoy you."

Dean swallowed. Hard. Because fuck but if Cas didn't say 'enjoy' like he might have said another, slightly shorter and far more typically meaningful word. Dean totally did _not_ squirm goddammit. "For my tarnished perfection right?" he joked - and if it was a little unsteady then fuck it - Cas's fondly exasperated sigh was totally worth it anyway.

With the tension went the last of the ominous shadows, leeching from the room as the sky outside cleared unnaturally fast leaving the full moon shining once more. Dean watched as Cas’s eyes ticked to the exploded lamp on the bedside table and Dean might have laughed at the look on the angel’s face under less heavy circumstances. It was like a particularly rumpled puppy expecting a freaking rolled up newspaper.

"We'll have to stock up on light bulbs if you're sticking around," Dean said, and though he was teasing it was something else too. It was an acceptance. Because it was Cas's choice - and he'd chosen...

And Dean suddenly had to remind himself to breathe because fuck him _dead_ they were really doing this. Cas was staying and he was staying and they were staying together and jesus fucking hell please god don't let him screw this up...

"Why?" Cas asked, lip quirking - interrupting Dean's inner freakout like the fucking pro he was. "Are you planning to infuriate me often?"

Dean felt the shit-eating grin slide into place with a painfully welcome familiarity. "You know it."

Cas’s eye roll was like a freaking gold medal - Dean almost wanted to run a victory lap. And - while he was still pretty far from okay with the situation, fear of the future still tapping staccato at the edge of his mind - for now at least he could accept this…this whatever it was they were doing.

And hey, maybe one day he’d even get up the fucking guts to call it what it was.

The silence between them stretched slightly - strangely comfortable considering Dean still had his hands bound as Cas’s fingers played across the hem of his t-shirt.

“Was that a fight?” Cas suddenly asked and Dean snorted.

“Yeah, I’d say that was a fight Cas,” he said ruefully, stretching his shoulders slightly to ease the pull. He was just thinking he ought to ask Cas to let him go when the angel’s next words had the notion tumbling out of his brain like so many dominos.

“Does that mean we can now have make-up sex?” Cas asked and even though the damn angel said the words ‘make-up sex’ like it was something he’d read in a text book Dean could hardly care - not when Cas was suggesting anything to do with sex in general.

To say Dean had gotten over any and all qualms regarding sex with a dude would be putting it mildly. The last few weeks had seen he and Cas in just about every position known to man - possibly some new ones too - and while Dean had always been a fan of humanity’s baser desires it was nothing to the near-obsession he had with watching Cas shake apart under him; over him; fucking any which way...

It was that obsession that right then saw Dean’s brain shift gears so fast his head almost spun. “Fuck yes.”

Cas made this pleased little sound in the back of his throat as he found the hem of Dean’s shirt again, fingers stealing beneath the fabric to drag blunt nails teasingly across the strip of skin just above his belt. Dean sucked in a breath at the sensation, flexing slightly against the invisible bonds that still held him tight. And huh - maybe there was one position they hadn’t tried yet…

“You gunna let me go?” he asked, not entirely sure what he wanted the answer to be. At least not until Cas’s eyes flicked up to his bound hands before returning to his face, a slight smirk pulling at his lips as he realised the same thing that Dean had a moment before.

“No,” Cas answered and Dean’s heart ratcheted up a notch as Cas smoothed his hands across Dean’s stomach - hiking the t-shirt up as he went. “I believe you need reminding of the positives of human sensation.”

Dean opened his mouth to reply but all that came out was a strangled groan as Cas replaced his hands with his mouth - sucking a bruising kiss over Dean’s hip as his hands made quick work of Dean’s belt-buckle. The angel had come a long way in his mastery of buckles, catches and clasps in the last few weeks - practice made perfect after all - but there was still something about buttons that seemed to trip him up. On cue Cas’s fingers stumbled slightly over the catch of the jeans and Dean bit down on a grin, vehemently NOT finding the action endearing at ALL. Goddammit.

Trouble or not though, Cas was nothing if not freaking determined. The button lost the battle in the end and Cas must’ve taken the slight hitch as a personal insult or something because Dean didn’t think he’d ever been stripped of his pants so fast before in his life. He barely had time to register the heavy sound of jeans hitting carpet before Cas was on him again, hands hot and familiar on Dean’s hips, pressing him down as he - _sweet merciful fuck_ \- licked a long, hot line up Dean’s cock. And if Dean hadn't already been hard before he would have been then.

“Cas…” Dean gasped, raising his head in time to catch a flash of vivid blue before the angel wrapped his lips around the head of Dean’s dick and sunk down in one long, smooth slide. Dean’s head slammed back into the pillow - hard - arms pulling taut as he bit down on a moan.

It wasn’t the first time Cas had done this - as _fucking evidenced_ \- but the sensation: the hot, slick heat of his mouth and the feeling of being pressed down; owned was something Dean could never quite brace himself for, no matter how much forewarning he had. Which, right now, was practically none.

Dean bucked up fruitlessly, Cas’s hands like steel on his hips - keeping him pinned to the mattress with an ease that did absolutely ridiculous things to Dean’s libido.

It was something he’d never seen coming - this love of being manhandled - pressed down and just fucking _taken_. He’d had girls who had liked to take charge in the past of course and Dean had happily played along to some pretty kinky tunes in the name of adventure but it’d never been this. This was power and a capacity for dominance beyond anything Dean had willingly sought; this was knowing Cas could easily break him. More importantly, this was Dean trusting him not to.

The knowledge was slightly terrifying but somehow insanely fucking hot at the same time. God knew how Dean managed THAT.

Cas chose that moment to underline Dean’s thoughts with a twist and flick of tongue that was just downright fucking criminal and Dean shuddered at the sensation - breath hitching in his chest as his bound hands clawed fruitlessly at the headboard.

Then Cas made this noise - this brain melting little half moan in the back of his throat and Dean swore loudly as his eyes slammed shut, neck arching as his pulse ratcheted impossibly higher. Because the only thing better than Cas going down on him, Dean had found, was Cas _getting off_ on going down on him. Which he did, they’d discovered. Spectacularly. Cas gave head like all he needed from life was to deep-throat Dean Winchester and he would die a happy angel and it never failed to turn Dean inside out.

Like now. Cas’s next moan went bone deep and Dean practically bucked under him because holy fucking hell he could not even handle this shit… “Cas - please…”

And yeah - so the begging thing had stuck around. His eviction notice from the male gender was due any day now.

Cas pulled off him as smoothly as he’d gone down - trust an angel to even be graceful giving head for fuck’s sake - and Dean bit off a noise of protest before he registered Cas climbing up his body. Scratch that - _naked_ Cas climbing up his body.

Dean groaned as Cas licked into his mouth again. That was so fucking cheating. In the greatest way possible of course. “Thought you were supposed to use your powers for good,” Dean teased breathlessly when Cas pulled back for air.

Cas twitched this stupidly fucking hot smirk down at him, an expression Dean was just never going to get sick of - ever. “Is this not good?” he asked, punctuating the sentence with a very deliberate roll of his hips that had Dean’s breath catching all over again.

“Fucking hell, I’ve created a monster,” Dean groaned, not even pretending he wasn’t grinning like a fucking loon. Because Jesus FUCK, he was so fucking gone on whatever this was between he and Cas. And for all it terrified him - for all he was spiralling out of control - it was also completely fucking exhilarating.

Dean was rewarded with another bone-deep kiss before Cas suddenly sat up, legs straddling either side of Dean’s thighs. Which - while the view was fucking awesome - was still just south of where Dean _really_ wanted him. Dean angled his hips in an effort to squirm closer and earned himself a quelling look before Cas twisted his hand slightly and was suddenly holding a nondescript bottle of lube.

Did Dean mention that sex with an angel was fucking awesome? ‘Cause it really, _really_ was.

Dean watched as Cas upended the bottle over his own fingers, heart tapping double-time as anticipation clenched in his gut. A year ago - if anyone had told Dean he’d be laying prone under an angel of the lord - dick fit to break down a fucking concrete wall at the thought of having said angel’s lube-slick fingers in him he would have reached for a goddamn exorcism spell. But that was then. Now…

Now Dean watched Cas slick up his fingers, skin fairly fucking _humming_ with the anticipation of it. Which was probably why it threw him for a moment when instead of shifting - reaching down and forward - Cas leaned back, arching and reaching behind himself to… _holy motherfucking hell_.

Dean promptly forgot how to breathe as he watched Cas's eyes drop to half mast, the angel's chest catching as his lips parted around a ragged inhale.

"Oh..." Cas breathed, neck bowing as his hips twisted and Dean was going to fucking die because Cas was bearing back onto his own damn fingers like he couldn't get enough and Dean had never seen anything so fucking hot in his goddamn life. He just about ripped his arms out of their sockets in an effort to get free. The need to touch had become a heavy burn on his skin, the temperature only ratcheting higher with every sound Cas made.

Then the angel did something better.

“ _Dean_ …” Cas practically fucking _keened_ and Dean just about finished right then and there. It was the honesty - the stripped bare truth of the tone. Anyone else, Dean would have thought they were putting on the show deliberately but not Cas. The angel may have picked up a few human quirks along the way but he was still painfully honest - in everything. Including, apparently, the way he could fuck himself open on his own fingers while panting Dean’s name. Dean was fairly sure his brains were leaking out of his ears here because sweet. Ever-loving. FUCK.

“Cas - fuck you’re…” Amazing, incredible, _going to be the fucking death of me_ \- Dean could have said any number of things but he never got the opportunity because Cas was suddenly shifting, eyes intense and drowned practically black as lube-slick fingers found Dean’s cock. The moan that broke from Dean was almost fucking embarrassing but he couldn’t find it in himself to care - not with Cas’s hand working him so well, fingers sure and slick and the _same god damn ones that had been inside Cas not moments before_.

Dean’s nerves twisted into something razor-edged and set on fire as Cas lifted up, knees bunching the comforter as he positioned himself. And then there was nothing but tightness and heat and - _motherfuckinghell_ \- Cas letting out a ragged moan as he just fucking _took it_ in one smooth, delicious slide.

Dean groaned, the sound rumbling up through his chest as he struggled to stay still - let Cas adjust enough to -

“Do you know what you _do_ to me?” Cas suddenly spoke, tone ragged and coarse as he hitched his hips and began to rock - not pulling off exactly but _moving_ \- setting a rhythm of push/pull that was definitely going to drive Dean completely fucking insane before the end. That is if Cas’s voice didn’t do the damn job first.

“You are the most stubborn; contrary; _infuriating_ …”

Seriously, how in the hell Dean had never connected Cas’s voice with sex the moment the angel had opened his damn mouth in that barn so many years ago Dean would never know. “You said infuriating before,” Dean groaned, unsurprised when his interruption earned him a sudden and delicious twist of hips that just about saw stars bursting behind his eyelids. He wasn’t the only one affected though, not if the catch in Cas’s breathing was to be believed.

Dean took the opportunity to plant his heels, thanking god that hunting kept him in good shape as he thrust up, punching a shocked gasp out of Cas. The angel’s hips staggered slightly before picking up their rhythm again - harder than before - enough that the next snap of Dean’s hips had Cas throwing his head back, throat bared as he moaned brokenly and Dean was going to fucking die here, seriously.

“ _Fuck_ , c’mon Cas…” Dean encouraged, voice low and _wrecked_ and Cas moaned again upon hearing it - movements turning hard and instinctual and Dean swore, suddenly wishing there was more light in the room because from what he _could_ see Cas looked fucking _spectacular_ losing it this way…

“Dean - “ Cas panted, voice cracking with an urgency that meant he was close - riding the edge of his release and Dean yanked again at the bindings holding him - a wave of combined heat and frustration washing through him when they held tight. Fuck. _Fuck_.

“Cas - Cas please,” Dean begged, not really even knowing what the hell he was asking for and - a moment later - not fucking caring. Not when Cas was suddenly seizing up above him, coming with a broken gasp - hard and fucking _incredible_ and Dean swore as he felt his own release spark. It was about then - fucking _then_ \- that he realised his hands were free and Dean didn’t think before he was moving - rolling Cas beneath him and - fucking _finally_ \- getting his hands on skin, gripping Cas’s hips hard enough to bruise as he thrust once, twice before coming with a broken grunt - face buried in Cas’s neck and Cas’s hands hot and goddamn perfect gripping his shoulders…

Dean came back to himself to the feel of Cas’s fingers carding through his hair - his whole goddamn body warm, boneless and draped all the fuck over Cas’s slighter frame in a way that would have been damn uncomfortable for anyone who wasn’t an angel. As it was, Cas seemed perfectly content exactly where he was - humming slightly as Dean shifted into a more comfortable position - still mostly on top of him - before resuming his petting. Not that Dean ever called it that. Ever. Just like he certainly didn’t arch into Cas’s touch like a giant fucking cat. Goddamn it.

Somewhere in the fray Cas had mojo’d away Dean’s t-shirt and Dean couldn’t help shifting, sliding skin on skin and just enjoying the feel of it as Cas smoothed his palm across Dean’s shoulders. He’d kill himself before admitting it out loud of course but Dean couldn’t deny that he enjoyed these moments. He’d always been a tactile person - touch being a craving he’d never managed to get a fucking control over. Most of his sexual encounters before hadn’t lent themselves well to satisfying it - being more about the roll and grapple than the _touch_. Cas though… fuck, it was all Dean could do not to just forsake the goddamn world and stay in bed all day with the way Cas touched him.

Dean shifted, suddenly reminded of something Cas had said before. “Is it massively different? Being in an empty vessel?”

Cas’s hand stilled for a moment on Dean’s shoulder blade before resuming it’s course. “Certain senses are more prevalent,” he explained. “It’s similar to the state I was in when my grace was diminished.”

Dean grunted, smoothing a hand across Cas’s ribs. “That’s not very reassuring Cas.”

Cas hummed and moved into the caress - suggesting that perhaps Dean wasn’t the only tactile one of the two of them. “My grace remains intact Dean - my powers will not diminish.”

Dean snorted. “Good thing I guess - what with you going after Baltha-douche.” And fuck but if the discomfort about THAT hadn’t just reared up and bitten him on the ass.

Dean felt Cas’s sigh and beat him to the words they both knew were coming. “I know this is something you gotta do on your own,” Dean said and if he was unable to keep the griping tone from his voice, fuck it. This was Cas chasing after the motherfucker that’d almost killed him today - Dean was allowed to be a little put out goddammit. “Just…” Dean swallowed, thankful he’d kept his head down - ear over Cas’s heart as his hands clenched involuntarily over the angel’s hip. “Just be fucking careful okay?”

Cas found the sweet spot at the back of Dean’s neck - expert fingers digging in in an effort to ease the tension Dean couldn’t have hidden if he goddamn wanted to. “I will be careful,” Cas assured.

Dean shifted himself up onto his elbow so he could finally look down at Cas - Cas who blinked up at him like he was the goddamn answer to all of life’s questions - just like he always fucking did. One of these days Dean might get used to it. “And you’ll call if you need help,” Dean ordered. “And you’re going to get your feathered ass back here every now and then so we can have filthy, mind-blowing sex -“

Cas cut him off by rolling on top of Dean - far too fucking easily for Dean’s masculinity mind you - before kissing him: deep, heated and utterly fucking spectacular. “I will come back as often as I’m able,” Cas assured long moments later, breath warm against Dean’s lips.

“You’ll come back,” Dean repeated, threading his hands into Cas’s hair - unsure who exactly he was trying to reassure here.

Cas just about purred against him, stretching in a way that promised a long, awesome night ahead. “Because of your tarnished perfection,” he dead-panned, the effect unspoiled by the gleam in his eye.

Dean’s bark of laughter was sudden and sharp - and exactly what he fucking needed.

**Author's Note:**

> For random ficcings and fangirling, check out my tumblr: [hatteress.tumblr.com](http://hatteress.tumblr.com)


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